


Till the Daylight

by HelgaMiddleton



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Ishbal | Ishval, Missing Scene, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelgaMiddleton/pseuds/HelgaMiddleton
Summary: "Will you stay till the daylight?" he asks quietly, and there is a plea in his voice."Yes," Riza answers without a second thought, and Roy's shoulders relax instantly. He doesn't smile—Riza worries he will never rememberhowto smile—but his eyes shine with silent gratitude, as if this is all that he needs to know.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Till the Daylight

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [До рассвета](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23768773) by [HelgaMiddleton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelgaMiddleton/pseuds/HelgaMiddleton). 



> So. Hello there!  
> Tell you what. _Stay Till the Daylight_ by Skillet hit me hard. Just. Go listen to it, it is beautiful. And I _had to_ write some Royai. And then, as if that wasn't enough, I had to translate it into English. For the record, English is not my first language, so there may be some mistakes. (Articles are killing me.) Please, feel free to correct me. I will be very grateful!  
> And please leave a comment if you liked the work, it would mean the world to me <3

_«Enemies drawing lines,  
We lay the blame, we justify,  
I surrender, I resign,  
I wanna go back, yeah,  
I wanna go back, yeah.  
And all that I need to know,  
Will you stay till the daylight?»_  
Skillet — Stay Till the Daylight

Sunsets in Ishval are beautiful.

Riza stands on one of the highest floors of a half-destroyed building and watches the sun going down. The view doesn't include smoking shambles of a battlefield, showing the desolate desert that has no end in sight instead. The rays of the setting sun paint the rocks in there with red, but this colour is so much softer and warmer, and Riza allows her eyes to rest on it; her thoughts about the blood she shed fall silent, for once.

There are no respites per se at war. Yes, the fire sometimes ceases for some blissful hours, but you stay on your guard anyway waiting with your heart racing for a shout, a gunshot, an explosion to ring any minute, and then you have to rush into your position and keep fighting. A soldier never sleeps. That's what they say.

But Riza, as well as some of her comrades, manages to scrape up some time to rest. She knows she can trust her fellow men on guard duty to watch her back, so she sneaks out to observe the sunset should she have a few minutes to spare.

Riza stares at the sun for a long while, so long that her eyes are starting to water. Except that she doesn't want to tear her gaze from the last rays of warmth just yet, so she wipes the moisture from her eyes and keeps watching. Giving in to the moment of weakness, Riza longs for the sun to blind her. _To not see death, to not see blood, to not see the target, to not see—_ Hawkeye closes her eyes and hangs her head in defeat. Losing eyesight is an unacceptable squandering. Not when the _Hawk's Eye_ can prevent another death only by being able to hold her sniper rifle.

The sun hides behind the horizon, the flashes of orange, gold, and purple dim in the sky, and Riza steps away from the window with a sigh. The dreamer girl who loved to admire sunsets is gone, perished in a meaningless war. Every minute of rest is precious, that's why Riza has no right to enjoy the view. Sleep means the surge of energy, and the surge of energy means awareness, control, and precision, which, in turn, can help to save one more life. Never mind that she is wide awake, and the nightmares are just waiting for her to lay her head on a folded jacket serving as a pillow. The war taught Riza to pass out on command.

She slowly comes downstairs, each step echoing loudly in the silence of Ishvalan night. Riza pauses when she hears someone panting, the sound merging with her footsteps. Did another soldier decide to take a walk in here as well? The breathing becomes a short quiet gasp, and Hawkeye turns away from the staircase, walking apprehensively in the direction of the sound of bare feet shuffling on a concrete floor.

In the empty room with no door, she finds Major Mustang.

He stays with his back to her, hands leaning on the window frame. His shoulders are visibly tense under the thin shirt, trembling from the night's chill. Or from a nightmare, Riza understands, having taken in crumpled blankets on the floor, his dishevelled black hair, and the white glove in his left hand. It's not that difficult to guess that the Major has tried to find a moment of peace hiding from other soldiers' prying eyes in this remote building. But ruthless nightmares have found him here nonetheless.

In this moment, Mustang seems so desperately lonely and, despite mere meters between them, so very distant to Riza, and she is afraid she will never be able to catch up to him in this maze of guilt and self-loathing they are both trapped in.

How did it start? Riza can't remember. Or she _can_ remember but doesn't _want_ to recall that moment when she took the first human life, when she started to notice vicious coldness in her eyes, when she bitterly recognized the same eyes of a _killer_ on Roy's face, when the hell her father's apprentice stopped to be just _Roy_ and became _Major Mustang_.

Riza's sigh is barely audible as she calls softly, "Sir?"

The Major— _Roy_ —startles and turns around sharply. The white glove ends up on his hand in the blink of an eye, fingers ready to snap any second, and Riza understands that today's nightmare was especially merciless seeing as he lowered his guard so much he hasn't realised she is here.

"Riza?" he croaks, lowering his hand, and her heart skips a beat because of how broken he sounds. Roy remembers himself a moment later and clears his throat. "Cadet Hawkeye. What are you doing here?"

There is neither rebuke nor curiosity in his voice. Nothing besides the impassive mask of a commissioned officer. Riza knows it's easier for him that way.

"I was watching the sunset, sir," Riza answers in a tone to match his. Something subtly shifts in Roy's eyes, and Riza knows she has reached him.

Roy turns back to the window and says with fake levity, "Is that so? Because I was actually going to wait till the sunrise."

Riza's lips quirk upwards slightly. The roof of Berthold Hawkeye's house was a perfect place to watch the sun. Riza often spent her evenings there. And then a boy appeared in their house who learned the flame alchemy from her father, and who always woke up at the crack of dawn and climbed upstairs to enjoy the view as well. It soon became some sort of a silent ritual; she came to the roof by sunset, he did at sunrise, both knew where to find each other at times like that, but they rarely sat on the roof together. Their minutes alone with the sun were personal.

Riza takes a few steps forward and pauses just behind Roy's right shoulder. It is enough.

"I thought—" Roy says and then hesitates. He takes a deep breath and tries again. "I thought it would get easier. I thought killing was hard only for the first time. You cross the line, you lose the possibility to come back, you resign, you keep doing your job. But it's not like that!" Roy furiously hits the windowsill with his fist. "Every damn Ishvalan seems to draw that line again and again, and I cross it again and again and—" he hangs his head helplessly. "And I just keep doing it. I keep murdering them by hundreds, Riza. I can't disobey my orders. I— I can't—"

He doesn't finish his thought, turning to look her in the eyes. Roy is all but one big lump of self-imposed guilt right now, and no matter how much Riza wants to justify all the terrible deeds he's done, she can't. She understands him a bit too well. Her hands are also covered in blood, and they won't be cleaned just by stating she simply followed her orders.

So she merely comes half a step closer to him, letting their shoulders touch, and continues to listen.

"You know what I have to do to keep my sanity intact?" Roy's eyes are desperately searching her face as if trying to predict how she will react to what he has to say. As if he is afraid she will hate him as much as he hates himself. "I think about home. I think about the bonfires we sometimes built as I snap my fingers incinerating dozens of people. I think about birds in the garden, about the waltz playing on the kitchen radio so as not to hear the screams. I think about the scent of Aunt Chris' perfume so as not to smell the burning flesh."

By the look in Roy's eyes, Riza understands that none of that is helping. And that that makes him feel even worse.

"I got used to it," Roy says evenly, but his eyes scream otherwise. Riza's heart sinks, and she puts her hand on his shoulder gently. Roy draws in a shaky breath and tilts his head slightly to her hand as if this simple touch is not enough, but he doesn't dare to ask for more. Roy closes his eyes and whispers, "I want to surrender."

And suddenly, Riza wants to cry. Instead, she lifts her hand from his shoulder and cups his cheek caressingly. His eyes snap open, shocked, and Roy covers her hand with his own like he is afraid she will pull it back any second.

"We can't," Riza says softly, and her voice seems so brittle to her that she bites her tongue. She ought to be strong. Just for today. For Roy.

It doesn't matter that her eyes keep stinging.

Roy takes a deep breath and nods shortly. And then, unexpectedly, he turns his head a little and presses his lips lightly to her palm. The gesture is so unbelievably tender and desperate, and it leaves Riza breathless. Who, in good conscience, would _kiss_ the hands of a _killer_? Apparently, Riza thinks, a good conscience is an unaffordable luxury for both of them. What to do with the overwhelming feelings, Riza doesn't know.

She doesn't need to decide, though, because Roy pulls her into his arms fervently and buries his face into her hair. Riza gasps in surprise, but embraces him a moment later, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. _Don't cry_ , she tells herself, _don't cry, be strong, get a grip, for Roy, he needs you, he nee—_

"I want to go home," Roy breathes, and with that, all of her resolve goes to hell. The childlike words sound way too deliberate, way too hopeless, way too _broken_ from his lips, and Riza can do nothing to stop her tears. She barely has the strength to lift her hand and card her fingers through Roy's hair, trying to soothe either him or herself, but, most likely, them both.

Riza mourns the people she killed and the extinguished light in Roy's eyes and her own. She feels Roy breathing—shaking, trembling, but _breathing_ —and loathes herself because it is enough for her screaming and sobbing conscience to calm down for a while. He is right here, in her arms, this close, _alivealivealive_... because she shot the enemy without any hesitation lest she allowed him to kill Roy. And she will do it again. Her conscience will just have to bear with her.

They stay this way for a long while, finding comfort and a piece of _home_ in the hug. Riza feels long-awaited fatigue creeping closer. She tries to hide a yawn, but, of course, Roy notices and reluctantly pulls away.

"Will you stay till the daylight?" he asks quietly, and there is a plea in his voice.

"Yes," Riza answers without a second thought, and Roy's shoulders relax instantly. He doesn't smile—Riza worries he will never remember _how_ to smile—but his eyes shine with silent gratitude as if this is all that he needs to know. When they settle down on the floor, Roy covers them with a warm blanket, and Riza sighs contentedly, tucking herself in.

She catches Roy's gaze, and her heart breaks yet again.

He looks at her like he can't believe that she is right here. Like Riza is the most precious thing in his life, like he is afraid that if he blinks she will disappear. Like he has just found the strength to move forward to return home _with her_ someday, when the war is over, win or lose.

Or, perhaps, she just reads in his eyes the thoughts she hides in her heart.

Roy sighs and turns to lie down on his back, staring tiredly at the ceiling.

"Are you okay, Major?" Riza asks despite knowing the answer.

"Are _you_ , Cadet?" Roy squints at her.

"Yes, sir," she lies.

"I'm fine, then," Roy says simply, and Riza has to fight the urge to smile bitterly.

"Goodnight, Roy," she says softly instead.

"Goodnight, Riza," he wishes her just as genuinely and covers her hand with his. Riza moves a little closer and tilts her head, so her temple touches his shoulder, allowing warmth and fatigue to lull her to sleep gradually.

Tomorrow, they will put on the masks of perfect soldiers, once again becoming a sniper and an alchemist, Cadet Hawkeye and Major Mustang. But for now, on this chilly Ishvalan night, staring at the silent stars through the window and listening to Roy's peaceful breathing, Riza can almost pretend that they are lying on the roof of Berthold Hawkeye's house and waiting for the sunrise _together_ , for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feedback is greatly appreciated, please, let me know what you think!


End file.
